


everyone hail to the pumpkin song

by Flowerparrish



Series: winterhawk bingo [8]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Carving pumpkins, Fluff, Halloween, Holidays, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 17:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21257231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish
Summary: What he finds when he enters their apartment, though, is the living room covered in pumpkins.He blinks, waiting to see if he’s imagining things, but—nope. Pumpkins, everywhere.Clint is at the center of the mess, couch pushed back and out of the way, seated on a bunch of folded out newspapers. He’s scooping pumpkin guts up with his hands, which are sticky and covered in orange gloop, and Bucky winces. Gross, and also—Bucky’s not big on Halloween.





	everyone hail to the pumpkin song

**Author's Note:**

> For the Winterhawk Bingo Halloween Event prompt Jack-o-lanterns

When Bucky returns from a mission mid-October, he just wants to sleep for approximately eighteen hours (give or take—but more give), and he wants to cuddle his boyfriend while he does it. He’s been gone for almost a week, which is _too long. _

Yeah, it’s for the good of the world and all that. And he _does _feel good about the mission and the result.

But it’s hard to be away from Clint for that long. He’s just glad he had Steve with him, because if he’d been away from _both _of them, he doesn’t know how he would have handled it.

(Or, he does, and the answer is: badly. So, so badly.)

What he finds when he enters their apartment, though, is the living room covered in pumpkins.

He blinks, waiting to see if he’s imagining things, but—nope. Pumpkins, everywhere.

Clint is at the center of the mess, couch pushed back and out of the way, seated on a bunch of folded out newspapers. He’s scooping pumpkin guts up with his hands, which are sticky and covered in orange gloop, and Bucky winces. Gross, and also—Bucky’s not big on Halloween. People dressing up and trying to scare each other: it’s a recipe for disaster for Bucky and his PTSD.

“Hey,” he greets, kicking the door shut behind him and dropping his bag to the floor.

Clint turns to look at him and beams. “Hi. How’d it go?”

“Fine.” Bucky kicks off his boots and edges closer to the disaster zone. “What are you doing?”

Clint brandishes a knife, as if that’s an answer. After a moment of Bucky’s uncomprehending silence, he says, “Carving pumpkins?”

Bucky’s first response is to ask, _like children do? _He bites it back. Instead, he says, “Where are you going to put them?”

Clint shrugs. “Around the Tower, probably. They won’t start to rot for a couple weeks, so I’ll trash them after Halloween.”

Bucky can see lines of tension in Clint’s shoulders, like he’s waiting for a disparaging comment. He can’t have that, so instead he says, “Okay. Can I help?”

Clint’s smile is breathtaking as always. It _almost _makes up for the fact that Bucky’s about to have pumpkin guts stuck between the plates in his arm for _days. _

After he’s scooped out one pumpkin, and he’s trying to decide if he should scoop out the rest while his hands are still dirty or take a break and carve this one, Bucky asks, “Why are we just carving pumpkins in silence?”

Clint shrugs. “I dunno. You want music? I can put on Halloween music.”

There’s an evil glint in Clint’s eyes. Bucky doesn’t know what “Halloween” music entails, but he’s certain he won’t enjoy it. “Nah. Movies, maybe?”

“Oh, yeah,” Clint agrees brightly. “Have you seen Nightmare Before Christmas?”

Bucky tilts his head. “Sounds seasonally inappropriate.”

Clint’s eyes widen. “Oh my god you haven’t. Okay, we’re starting with that.”

Bucky shrugs and leaves Clint and JARVIS to turning it on.

“Are we dressing up for Halloween?” Bucky asks. He feels like he should know this—but, then, he _has _been gone.

“Tony always has a party,” Clint says. He’s carving his own pumpkin with a distinctly unsuitable knife—in that Bucky recognizes it as his fourth favorite _fighting _knife, because of course it is—and his tongue is poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates.

This isn’t what Bucky wanted to be doing, but he feels himself relaxing anyway, unwinding and distinctly contented.

“So are we going?”

Clint shrugs. “I usually do.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at Clint’s reticence. “Okay,” he agrees. “So, costumes?” Clint hums noncommittally. Bucky rolls his eyes again. “Okay,” he says once more. “I’ll figure something out.”

Clint glances up and gives Bucky a small, pleased smile. It makes Bucky’s stomach turn over in uncomfortable joy.

He kind of gets why Steve’s always ribbing him about them being cute or whatever. Domesticity is gross. (Nice though.)

They watch a handful of Halloween movies—nothing scary, at Clint’s insistence, just heartwarming stories Bucky suspects are for children—and carve, between them, about twenty pumpkins. It’s well after dark by the time they finish.

Bucky leaves Clint to clean up as he makes an effort to wash the pumpkin bits out of his metal hand, and when he turns to the bathroom door a good fifteen minutes later, Clint is watching him. Bucky quirks an eyebrow in question before drying his hands.

“Thanks,” Clint says quietly.

Bucky shrugs. “Any time.”

Clint’s smile is small and pleased and no less warm for its quietness. Bucky likes Clint like this—quiet, content, not trying to be larger than he is to hide himself behind the façade.

“Love you,” Bucky tells him.

Clint’s smile grows. “Love you. Kiss me?”

Bucky glances down at Clint’s hands. They’re clean. “Yeah,” he agrees.

It’s soft and warm, a little wet, one hundred percent like coming home. He sighs softly against Clint’s lips.

When they break apart, Clint tangles his fingers in Bucky’s and tugs him toward their bedroom. “C’mon. We can find homes for the pumpkins tomorrow.”

As they turn out the lights and climb into bed, Bucky thinks—Halloween. Maybe an okay holiday after all.


End file.
